Sunday 28 September 2014

Book Review--Origins


Here's the rub. Once upon a time--and still today--people who believe in a Christian education used evolution as a kind of shibboleth. Those of us who chose to send our kids to a Christian school could always say, "You know, if our kids went to public schools, they'd be taught that their ancestors were chimpanzees--how does that square with biblical thinking?"

End of conversation. Maybe. Creation was a mainstay, a foundational principle. That God almighty created all things was a given in what most people considered a Christian worldview. Belief in evolution was belief in Godlessness. 

And it still is.

Well, somewhat. 

The alternatives, for some, are few. Either He did or He didn't. Now if we hang two scenarios on that "either-or" dilemma, only two possibilities exist: either 6000 years ago God almighty snapped his fingers and it all started on time; or, creation is a cute little story for pre-schoolers.

Already in 1925, the theory of evolution was a lightning rod. When William Jennings Bryan, a fiery Christian populist known for his passionate oratory, entered a Tennessee courtroom, not having practiced law for more than thirty years, he was taking on nothing less than atheism itself.  On the other side stood an equally powerful heavyweight advocate--and agnostic--Clarence Darrow. For the two of them, the question of creation vs. evolution was perfectly either/or. 

That trial set a paradigm in the American mind ever since: evolution is Godless; creation is Godly.

Wouldn't it be sweet if life was that simple?

We've been reading Origins, a wonderful little compendium of the parameters of the conversation, for quite some time now, a fascinating study. One of the authors, Loren Haarsma, grew up just down the road in Orange City and is, in fact, some distant relative of my wife. His accomplice happens to be his wife, who, like Loren, is a pedigreed scientist who's made scientific research her life's work.

It's rare to find a book so generously written. That the Haarsmas have a point of view in all of this goes without question, but their largess for those who don't share their views is immensely gracious, given the passion most of us bring to the arguments.

There are land mines in the war between creation and evolution, plenty of them. The Haarsmas don't try to sidestep them. They go out of their way to find them and open them so the reader doesn't miss either the land mines themselves of the character of their composition. This little study does us all well because their mission impossible is to discuss an issue that has made people point their fingers--and wag them--ungraciously for a long, long time.

There's nothing new about the debate--except science. What has changed since that old steamy Tennessee courtroom is what we know about ourselves and our world. Today, solid scientific evidence exists about genes and chromosomes, knowledge that could barely be theorized just a few decades ago. That knowledge has enriched our sense of origins, of how humankind has developed. After all, the science of genetics tells a story, too, a story we can't simply burn or deliver to the landfill.

Orthodox Christianity has always recognized two sources of revelation--that which we discover in the Bible, the Spirit-breathed Word of God; and that which we see around us, God's own continuing revelation in creation.  "The heavens declare the glory of God," David says, because every last painting in the sky teaches us his glory. No one on the face of the earth misses that sermon.

Balancing the weight of the two can be something of a high-wire act. How can ordinary Christian believers go to the bank with a six-day creation and the fossil record or the science of genetics? Answering that question is tough stuff.

What the Haarsmas do in Origins is try to explain the strengths and weaknesses of various deeply held points of view on just exactly how God almighty created this world of ours--and His.

We live in an immensely fractured world. Even in churches, politics are often far, far more highly regarded than theology. Have no doubt, Origins could raise cain and probably does in some strongholds. 

But the Haarsmas have gone out of their way to treat just about everyone with dignity and justice. The book--it's not long and very methodical and comprehensive--is a real blessing.

Friday 26 September 2014

Algebra 10-12 assignment; Jan. 30

We introduced the method of solving systems of equations by elimination today.  We also took a quick check quiz at the end of the period.

assignment:  Elimination worksheet #1

Thursday 25 September 2014

The ghost of Robert Ray



Honestly, you've got to feel a little sorry for Governor Terry Branstad.  

Iowa's "governor-for-life" really stepped in it last week when, in a press conference, he said things that, with a bit of a nudge or a twist, can sound freakishly fascist. Let's face it, with an issue like illegal immigration, there's a whole lot of "it" to step in, as the Gov discovered.

"Iowa doesn't want illegal children," or so read some headlines. While that interpretation of the governor's remarks isn't far afield, it's a spin. The line, quoted extensively by the way, was far less ugly.  Here's the way Breitbach reported it, quoting the AP: “The first thing we need to do is secure the border. I do have empathy for these kids,” Branstad said. “But I also don’t want to send the signal that (you) send your kids to America illegally. That’s not the right message.”

That he began with "I do have empathy for these kids" makes him sound human. And he is.

However, in a state with a history that includes another Republican "governor for life," Robert Ray, Branstad's words, no matter how they're spun, do sound more than a little bitchy. It was Ray, after all, who took in thousands when no one else would. It was Ray who said he really didn't care what people said about his taking in all those refugees--he'd do it anyway because it was the right thing to do and Iowans were the kind of people who'd help. It was Ray who took all kinds of excrement from the same people who are saying the same things today about "them people" finding a place in the tall corn.

They're illegal, dang it, and Iowans believe in the rule of law. So there.

For what he said in that news conference, lefties may well make Branstad look like a redneck oaf, but he isn't. It's Robert Ray who makes Branstad sound like a moral midget.

The situations are not the same, I know--illegal immigrant kids are not Tai Dam refugees. Their histories are not the same, and neither was or is their motivations to come to this country. But to any Iowan who remembers Governor Ray's greatest moment, Branstad
 comes up wanting no matter how his news conference answer is spun.

"The first thing we need to do is secure the border," Branstad said. I've never understood what Republicans and Fox News means by "secure borders," unless it's what Herman Cain suggested, a Great Wall of China secured with electric wires, like Dachau. We have a problem with 50,000 kids from Central American countries right now because we have secure borders, right? They got caught. Just how exactly do we make them more secure?

"I do have empathy for those kids," Branstad said. He didn't say, "Keep them the heck out of Iowa." Never did, even if that's the way it sounded.

Still, my guess is Branstad won't look back on that press conference his finest hour, not with Bob Ray looking over his shoulder.

Tuesday 23 September 2014

Algebra 10-12 assignment; May 15

We went over the quadratic formula again during our entry task, giving the students another chance to see how it is applied.  We then spent the first part of the period working on how to solve various formulas for a given variable.  Some the formulas were quadratics, while others were linear equations.  After going through several problems together, the students then got to work on their own on their assignment.


Assignment:  Solving formulas for variables worksheet

Monday 22 September 2014

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Wednesday 17 September 2014

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Monday 15 September 2014

Calvinist blues



First, let me be honest.

I'm writing from the first floor--I hesitate to call it a basement--of a brand new house my wife and I built out there in the country, miles and miles of farmland just outside the spacious window to my right where, this morning, soon enough the sun will rise and glaze all that farmland in heavenly finery. 

I'm not St. Francis of Assissi when it comes to worldly things.  Shoot, I've got an Aeron chair beneath me, a throne.

But here's the story.

For years we had this deck table, heavy plastic top, scrawny crooked legs. It sat on our deck, as deck tables should, suffering the abuse of Iowa seasons but generally holding its shape in a fashion I would have been proud of myself if I'd have done it. Anyway, emphasis on years.

When we moved from town to the farm house we rented, it stood out beneath a magnificent cottonwood, just a few steps from the river, where, occasionally, it would do what good picnic tables do--hold chocolate and marshmallows and graham crackers and an occasional hot dog. It got rained on, snowed on, blown down, etc., but still came back to serve us, rather selflessly, I'd say.

When we moved to the new house, it came along. Our back yard is a work-in-progress, but that deck table stayed out back until one winter night when a full-scale, northwest wind grabbed it in the crevice where I'd parked it and banged it madly against the house.  I pulled on a coat and boots, grabbed the noisemaker and dragged it into a basement back room, where it sat, unused, unloved.

So July 3, we were cleaning up the mess in the back yard when we realized something had to be done. That deck table has done yeoman's service for us, but its time had come and gone. 

Now had we still been in town, I would have dragged it out to the street and made it clear that if someone wanted it, they could simply take it away. It would have been gone in half hour.  But here we are in the country. So voila! I thought--how about one of those Facebook swap shops? I took the picture above, created a page ("Free, just in time for the Fourth"), and two minutes later, no more, a name I didn't know posted:  "I want it" or something similarly declarative.

"Can I come and get it tomorrow?" she wrote. 

By this time, we wanted it gone. As in now. "We just may deliver," I typed in. "Where are you?"

"LeMars," she wrote. 

Twenty minutes south. Bring her the dumb thing, we thought. "Where do you live?" I wrote.

"Meet me at Bob's Drive-In," she said. 

And I get a hot dog, too.

So we did. She was thrilled. Young, pretty mom, single mom, whose daughter she said, would be thrilled because somehow their deck table didn't make it through the Iowa seasons or something. I don't remember exactly. What I remember is that she loved it. Seriously. She loved it. Then we ate hot dogs.

Only a true Calvinist would say this, but it's true:  I felt guilty about feeling so blessed.

Seriously, that old table served us well, but we've wanted it gone for quite some time and I had no idea how we were going to do that (you can't just put it in the garbage). Stem to stern, it was no more than an hour, and everything was pure win/win. We got rid of the table--hallelujah!--and tatooed single mom was thrilled.  Win/win.

The whole affair just made me realize, even after two moves, how much stuff we still got, really, and how much stuff we could so joyfully get rid of.  

Like I said, only a Calvinist can have that much fun--and a hot dog too, not just any hot dog either--and still feel guilty.

Sunday 14 September 2014

Algebra 10-12 assignment; April 14

We introduced another form of factoring today:  factoring by grouping.  This method allows the students to break down polynomials with 4 terms.  We went over 4 examples together in class before the students got started on their assignment.

Assignment:  Factoring by Grouping worksheet

Friday 12 September 2014

Algebra 10-12 assignment; Feb. 21

We went over our homework today and did a final review before taking a quiz today on graphing linear inequalities.  After the quiz, the students then got a start on their homework assignment for the weekend.


Assignment:  Graphing Linear Systems worksheet

Thursday 11 September 2014

World Cup purity



I take no pride in telling you this. Think of it as confession of sin.  I have not watched a minute of the Team USA's play in the World Cup. Seriously, I wanted to, but not enough, I guess. Real desire changes lives, but my desire didn't even change my schedule. I told myself the U.S. was playing and I ought to watch, but I never did--I did other things. Which means, basically, that I didn't want to watch them as much as I thought I did.

Honestly, I wish I had. I would have liked be part of a national phenomenon, something wondrously sweet in this sharply divided nation of ours (I think red and blue states all tuned in, didn't they?). My son-n-law's shot at Ann Coulter, posted here last week, was on the mark. Of course, I thought she was nuts long before her daffy duck cheap shot at soccer.

She's not crazy. She makes a fortune at what she does, and got herself all over the news for the column. But she and Rush, O'Reilly and Hannity --and Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert--are all, first and foremost, entertainers.  If they weren't, they'd run for office and spread their gospel far-er and wide-r. They're in it for the cash or the applause, a little of both maybe--all of 'em. 

I'm not a bit-time soccer fan, really, but years ago I happened to be in the Netherlands at the time of the European Cup, when Spain beat someone (not Holland, as I remember) right there.  It was wild in Amsterdam, but I suppose that goes without saying. There is nothing like it in Orange City.  

That year, when I came back to the states, I watched the World Cup almost religiously. Whenever the Dutch team played, I wandered over to the college, where a big screen (one of few back then) was set up in a community room full of people dressed as if it were pheasant opener just across the river in South Dakota.  Loved it.

This year, I just didn't take the time.

No matter. I loved the vigor of the fans, loved it that Ann Coulter's stick-in-the-mud American exclusivism got sneers from Colorado Springs to San Fran.  Look at the picture up top--there have to be Republicans in that bunch, have to be Democrats too.

I loved it because none of Team USA's heroes are household names in this country, even though all of them are stars and some are even wealthy. Professional sports tire me (except the Packers, whose righteousness is proved by the fact that they are still owned by the community--shoot, even our banker has a team share framed on his wall). 

The NCAA is filthy rich, but it still flaunts the absurdity of there being a "student athlete." Colleges and universities are slaves to their Athletic Departments (upper case, you see) and the coaches who get all the best salaries.  An uncle of mine once spent a year as interim head of Indiana University. He told me it wouldn't have been a bad job if it hadn't have been for Bobby Knight. Once upon a time, bowl games were named after fruit or flowers or cotton on New Year's Day. Now it's Doritoes or Fed Ex or Chick-fil-a. 

I know what Romney thinks: "corporations are people too, man."  Remember that one? Well, bullshit. If corporations were "people, too, man," all our BMWs would have their own in-house elevators, and income disparity in America wouldn't be going through the roof. Give me a break.

I suppose now that the entire nation did a stadium wave at the World Cup, we'll make gods of the players too. Tim Howard's already on his way, I guess. Burger King or Home Depot will take over, and it won't be Team USA anymore but team Team Pampers or something. That's the way it goes in America, right? Where two or three are gathered, someone's going to make a buck.

I don't know. From the outside, from someone who saw the roaring crowds only on national news, I thought America's chapter in the World Cup story was somehow pure, and there's so little that's pure these days in the great U. S. of A.

What's more, we lost. Wish it weren't true, but we did. On a good day, American exclusivism, a top notch German coach, and a few good breaks will barely get us past Ghana. Most Americans don't have a clue where on earth Belgium is. Get this: on Saturday, the Netherlands, which fits between Sioux City, Iowa, and Wilmer, Minnesota, plays Costa Rica, which fits between Chamberlain, SD, and Des Moines, Iowa. 

Seriously? And we're out? That's just not American.

I like that. 

I'd have liked to win, quite frankly; but we didn't.

Nope. And that's fine too. 

Monday 8 September 2014

Algebra 10-12 assignment; Feb. 18

Yesterday was a holiday, so there was no school and no assignment.  We spent today continuing to work on linear inequalities as the students worked on getting the equations in the correct form before graphing them.


Assignment:  Graphing linear inequalities worksheet #2

Sunday 7 September 2014

Wasicu at Chankpe Opi: A White Man at Wounded Knee III


Here we are. Look around. If you stand on this promontory in the summer, the heat can be oppressive; but on a good day you might be surrounded by a couple dozen tourists. That’s all. Wounded Knee doesn’t exactly border the Black Hills, and it’s not on the way to Yellowstone. It’s not on the way to anything, really. Right now you’re in the heart of fly-over America, many millions of Americans never coming closer to this shallow valley than, say Chicago. Any time of year, the twisted vapor trails of jets on their way to LAX or LaGuardia float like ribbons in the genial sky.

In the late fall or muddy spring or cold mid-winter—like that December day in 1890—it’s likely you’ll stand very much alone at Wounded Knee. Cars and trucks navigate the reservation roads that cross almost directly at the point of battle, but for most of the year a visit here is unlike a visit to any other North American historic battlefield.

Gettysburg National Military Park offers an aging but impressive Cyclorama, a remarkable circular painting, 356 feet by 26 feet, that puts visitors at the heart of the battle. Little Big Horn’s visitor’s center sells helpful interpretive audio tapes to use as you tour several miles of battlefield from the air-conditioned comfort of your mini-van. But if you want to know what you can about Wounded Knee, the only storyteller there, all year round, is the wind.

Just imagine the encampment before you, and keep in mind the despair, the poverty, and the hopelessness of the dancers. “To live was now no more than to endure/The purposeless indignity of breath,” says John G. Neihardt in The Twilight of the Sioux. Millions of buffalo once roamed here, the staple of existence for thousands of nomadic Native people, the soul of their culture and faith. By 1890, they were gone.

In North Dakota’s horrible winter of 1996, while thousands of cattle died in the monstrous cold, it is reported that only one bison perished. Once the buffalo ruled here. In all the openness all around you, the Great Plains stretching out almost forever in every direction, try to imagine what it must have been like to stand on this promontory and look over herds so large you could see the mass ripple as they shifted slightly when detecting human scent, almost like watching wind on water. That’s what’s gone. To the Sioux, the hunt was a not only manhood’s proving ground, but a celebration for the family, often opened and closed with prayer. Few 19th century wasicu could understand that the disappearance of the buffalo seemed, to many Plains Indians, almost the death of god. I don’t believe I still can, try as I might.

But if I stand here on the promontory at Wounded Knee and remind all that is white within me of grinding poverty, the exhaustive dissolution of a way of life, and the seeming death of god, I can, perhaps, begin to understand the frantic hope inspired by the Ghost Dance.


Today, right behind you, you’ll see fenced-in enclosure where a granite monument, nine feet tall, lists the names of a few of those killed here. “Chief Big Foot,” it says, and then lists “Mr. Shading Bear, Long Bull, White American, Black Coyate, Ghost Horse, Living Bear, Afraid of Bear, Young Afraid of Bear, Yellow Robe, Wounded Hand, Red Eagle,” and just a few more. Estimates vary on the number of dead buried where you’re standing, but most think 150 or so frozen bodies were dumped into the mass grave beneath the cordon of cement. No ceremony—Native or white. Just a dump.

On the other side of the stone there’s an inscription, still visible seventy years after the marker was placed where you’re standing.

This monument is erected by surviving relatives and other Ogallala and Cheyenne River Sioux Indians in Memory of the Chief Big Foot Massacre Dec. 29, 1890.

Col. Forsyth in command of U. S. Troops. Big Foot was a great chief to the Sioux Indians. He often said “I will stand in peace till my last day comes.” He did many good and brave deeds for the white man and the red man. Many innocent women and children who knew no wrong died here.

As Harry W. Paige says in Land of the Spotted Eagle, this isn’t the grammar, the syntax, or mechanics of an Oxford don. What it is, he says, is “writing that weeps.”
_____________________
Tomorrow:  What really happened at Wounded Knee

Saturday 6 September 2014

Geometry assignment; March 18/19

These days are designated HSPE testing days, so not all the classes meet each day.  We continued our work with arcs in circles today, going over more complex problems involving angles both inside and outside of circles.  After a few more examples that we went over in class together, the students then got a start on their homework in class.


Assignment:  Other angles in circles worksheet  #1-20

Algebra 10-12 assignment; April 15

We continued working with factoring by grouping today.  The concepts that we added were factoring out negative terms and factoring out GCF from the final factored answers.

Assignment:  Factoring by Grouping worksheet #2

Thursday 4 September 2014

Morning Thanks--Sabbath on Spirit Mound


It's an aberration really, a odd little mole on flatland prairie, a strange little pile of glacial till, I guess, from which, bountifully, you can see for miles.

Spirit Mound get its name from the Yanktons, who insisted a whole tribe of devils lived on top that hill, little guys no bigger than a foot tall, who were regularly unkind to anyone who dared venture up where they were kings of the hill. The Yanktons told Lewis and Clark about these pint-sized menaces, so when the Corps of Discovery was here just about exactly 210 years ago, they left the river behind for an excursion and hiked a half-dozen miles north or so to check out the demons.

What they found was a great place from which to scope out the territory, which they did--and to their delight, they spotted buffalo, the American bison, probably in the hundreds or thousands, the first time they'd see them on their river trip west. But no little demons filling them with arrows. Nary a soul--not a one.

All of that happened not that far away from where we live, just across the river and tad south. Today Spirit Mound is a historical site and sweet place to hike on a sweet day like yesterday.  So we went. 

My father used to tell me that growing up in the preacher's house made him dislike every terminally-boring Sunday because there was so much the kids--and the preacher and his wife had ten--couldn't do. True story. 

Still, when I was a kid, if I'd play ball somewhere on Sunday afternoon, I'd have to sit for a half hour to stop sweating enough to dare walking into our house, lest it become sinfully clear that I'd been playing ball somewhere on Sunday. I'm sure Sundays were less straight-jacketed in our house than they were in my father's, but he was hardly an apostate.  

Somewhere in Stages of Faith, James Fowler claims that some of the spit and vinegar believers may have lived by and with during their earlier adulthood eventually dissipates. We get a little more, you know, "hey, whatever. . ."

I'm embarrassed to admit that our Sabbath on Spirit Mound yesterday might well have been something I wouldn't have undertaken years ago--after all, there was church at night. It's hard for me to believe that I would have been agin' such a hike up the mound, but I likely wouldn't have done it, on a Sunday afternoon because. . .well, I'm not sure why, maybe just because. 

And, of course, after church at night, I had to work, to get ready for school, correct a few papers, read a chunk of the Scarlet Letter maybe, figure out how I was going to navigate my Monday classes. It's more than mildly ironic, but I probably wouldn't have spent a Sabbath as I did yesterday because I had too much work to do.

Yesterday, the September air was dry and clean but still warm in a way that says summer is already a couple days' journey south. Harvest has yet to start so there was no dust to speak of, endless fields still enrobed in emerald. Seriously, there were no devils atop Spirit Mound, and you could see almost forever. No buffalo either, but with that much open space all around you could see how they might just be there, a couple of thousand maybe.

I'm a child of my parents' way of life. It's in me for as long as I live. If yesterday they were there seated on a couple of heavenly lawn chairs, watching us hike, I don't think they would have disapproved. They would have smiled.

After all, they're the ones who taught me sabbath.


Monday 1 September 2014

Geometry assignment; 8/29

We worked on another activity (geometry in a 2 x 4) in class today that dealt with describing and locating various figures (points, lines, and planes).  The periods were shortened due to a welcome-back assembly, so the students didn't complete the entire activity in class.  The rest of the questions were assigned as homework.

Assignment:  complete the 2X4 activity questions

Hot, hot air



I get what John Boehner says, and he's likely right: the Democrats are using this silly impeachment talk to recharge their base and ring up the bucks. He's right, and it's worked. He says the Democrats are the ones doing all the talking, not him, not them. 


That's where he's wrong. Ms. Sarah Palin probably didn't start it, but she didn't let the Democrats do all the talking. She's the one who made headlines; and, lest we forget, should John McCain have won the 2008 Presidential election, Ms. Sarah, who didn't even complete her first term as Governor of Alaska, was just a heartbeat away from being POTUS, as they say in Washington. How does this sound? "President Sarah Palin." 

Here's the ex-gov:  
It’s time to impeach; and on behalf of American workers and legal immigrants of all backgrounds, we should vehemently oppose any politician on the left or right who would hesitate in voting for articles of impeachment. The many impeachable offenses of Barack Obama can no longer be ignored. If after all this he’s not impeachable, then no one is.
Last time I checked, Ms. Palin wasn't a Democrat.


And then there was Rep. Steve Scalise's (R-La.), who, it seemed, even when pushed, would not answer the question Chris Wallace of Fox News Sunday kept asking--"Will you consider impeaching the president?" He, like Boehner, kept telling Wallace that it was a Democratic ploy. But he never really said no, which means, of course, that he kept the notion alive--and he's the new House Majority Whip, not an also-ran.

Republicans have been talking impeachment--and big-name Republicans too.

And now my own rep, Steve King, promises Breitbart kick-starting the impeachment process if Obama does anything to change the status of undocumented workers, including, I guess, doing something about all those kids who've come across the border. King, you might remember, says lots of them are drug runners and you can tell because they have calves like cantaloupes. But then, he thinks of the headlines he gets as virtues, as do lots of Iowa voters, I guess, 80-some per cent of Sioux County.

And now it turns out that yet another Iowan, Joni Ernst, this one not yet in the House, several months ago already told a like-minded Des Moines audience that impeachment was definitely a way of dealing with Obama and actually called him a "dictator." Really? It's nice to know that our reps are unified, I guess. She and King will make a great pair, working for all of Iowa in Washington. 

It's nutty, and it's awful. It's a combustible mixture of hate and hot air, and I honestly don't get it. 

Recent poling determined that 57 percent of Republicans, a clear majority, would like to impeach President Barack Obama for what the constitution labels 'high crimes and misdemeanors."  More than half. Of course, what percentage of Republicans believed he was born in some foreign country and therefore ineligible to be President?  Wasn't that number somewhere in the forties too? Dream on.

I never was a Clinton fan, but I thought his impeachment process regrettable. "I never had sex with that woman" was a bald-faced lie, but impeachable? The Republicans ended up losing big-time, just as they'll lose big time on this one.

Besides, catting around with an intern is small potatoes when compared to what we've lost in Iraq--thousands of Americans, many thousands of Iraqis, gadzillions of dollars. A case can be made, and has, by those who don't have political leanings, that our invasion of Iraq upset the Middle Eastern apple cart even more fully than it was. There's dominoes there, and they're spilling all over the region.

If anyone committed some kind of national travesty, George W did. But nothing he did was either high crime or misdemeanor. He had the Congress on his side. He and his VP developed the case, and, for the most part, we all bought it. Maybe the American electorate--me included--should be impeached.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that political life in this country could get any worse. It's not hard to worry nowadays; if, as some say, tragedy unites and politics divide, then we are going to have to suffer big-time before somehow we learn once more to get along.